That’s Some Pig!



So there we were, standing at a restaurant bakery counter in Flagstaff, waiting to be served…when my daughter saw a teensy spider on the arm of her sweater.

Caolinn: “Oh, my, God!  Oh, my, God!  Oh, my, God!  What do I do!?”

Me: (brushing spider off onto the floor)

Caolinn: (Stepping on it)

Me: “Why did you do that?  It wasn’t hurting anyone.”

Caolinn: “It could have climbed on your foot!  And how did it get there?”

Me: “Didn’t you see Charlotte’s Web?  Remember when the baby spiders went into the wind?”

Caolinn: “I hate that book; it was needlessly depressing.  Everything’s finally okay, and then she has to go and die and leave a hundred orphans.  It was a work of fiction…they could have let her live happily ever after.”

Me: “Well, at least she didn’t get stepped on in the middle of a bakery.”

Caolinn: “Mommmmm!”

Me: (shrugging) “Just saying.”

Caolinn: “Well, Charlotte should have lived a long life.”

Me: “Like the one you just stepped on.”

Caolinn: “MOMMMMM!  You’re making me feel bad!”

Me: “Not as bad as the spider.”

Caolinn: *facepalm*

Seriously…Children’s Publishing…you either need to hire me, or we need to go get a beer, because you’re just filthy enough to be fantastic company.


All of the following have been found in the last week, in the 2nd grade reading level area…

First we have the subtle…


Then, the not so subtle…

And, finally, we have the coup de grace…my personal favorite…


Nate the Great, indeed, and who DOESN’T love a happy ending?

Children’s Literature is clearly being written by perverts and weirdos. How do I get in on this? Seriously…I’m a natural.


So there I was…minding my own business, when I randomly found the following book, sitting on top of a shelf.

My Cat's Secret

Fanstastic, yes?  At the time, I posted it to Facebook, asking friends and family (most of whom would probably deny me three times, even without fear of execution) what they thought the possible secret could be.  I mean…come on…it’s a cat.  If they were people they would openly kill with such guile, that authorities would have very little want to even bother prosecuting them for it.  (Although…I have heard of a lawyer who would totally take that case.)  I, personally, was holding out that the cat in question had two separate families,  being that I had recently read this horrifying article, that showed those little bastards were  like traveling salesmen in the sixties, and had a family on every block:  Another friend was holding out hope that the cat in question was about to come out of the closet (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but I think he was just misled by the rainbow lettering on the front cover.

In the end, the truth was finally revealed…


Yes, that’s right…an out-of-wedlock, youthful pregnancy, in which the shame of her condition caused her to birth her babies in solitude.  I like to picture her biting on a leather belt, to keep the mewling to a minimum.  Apparently, in this scenario, the birth of unwanted, fatherless kittens is a great birthday present.  Because nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, is a better present than some afterbirth getting on your favorite sweater.

Most alarming, perhaps, is how the cat got into that drawer in the first place.  Apparently, in this tale of shame and woe…they’ve also grown thumbs.  Which begs the question, if they have thumbs, then why no condoms?  Super irresponsible, Tabby.